Chaos Theory
by modest.giant
Summary: Stein embarks on the quest for answers after having been framed for the murder of Joe, Marie is at his side. Marie must conquer her grief, while Stein wrestles with his inner demons. Are they prepared to face their feelings? Are they prepared to find the truth? Romance/Revenge Fic. Directly follows events in the Manga, spoilers for those who haven't read. Rating may change.
1. Part I: Departure

**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, nor do I profit from this. I am simply writing this for fun.**

**A/N: Here is my second fic of Stein x Marie. As stated in the description, it will directly follow events in the manga, so there will be spoilers for those who haven't read it. The first chapter, and a portion of the second, are pretty much my own take on 'Chapter 40: Decision'. After that I'll explore the time Stein and Marie spent hunting down Joe's killer and so forth. Each chapter will involve a quote of some sort at the beginning that I believe speaks to the characters or is relevant for that particular scene I'm writing (kind of like Criminal Minds lol). Likewise, each chapter will alternate from Stein's and Marie's POV (ie. No double-POV chapters). I'm enjoying writing this, so I hope you enjoy reading it. So without any more of my exposition, I present the first chapter of Chaos Theory.**

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_"Chaos, with reference to chaos theory, refers to an apparent lack of order in a system that nevertheless obeys particular laws or rules; this understanding of chaos is synonymous with dynamical instability. The two main components of chaos theory are the ideas that systems - no matter how complex they may be - rely upon an underlying order, and that very simple or small systems and events can cause very complex behaviors or events. This latter idea is known as sensitive dependence on initial conditions."_

- (_Definition of Chaos Theory, from Computing Fundamentals)_

**Part I: Departure**

There was a symphony in his head; his thoughts were the orchestra, his madness was the conductor. The string instruments screeched out of tune in the left ear, while the brass instruments blared harshly in the right. However, it was percussion that dominated the fray, the drums booming in the back of his mind while cymbals crashed together in the front. Stein obediently followed the shadows of his captors, as he was consumed by the musical discord in his mind. He laughed because they could not hear it, they could never hear it. They could never understand the poignant masterpiece inside his head, or the way it almost brought him to tears. He was the single figure in the sea of theater chairs, the only person in the audience.

The symphony began to collapse on itself, the sounds distorted until all was quiet, aside from the acute ringing in his ears. It was then that he realized they were in the graveyard, rather than the death room—where he was to receive punishment for a crime he did not commit. What sort of game were they playing with him? He glanced from Sid to Spirit, every fiber of his being fully alert and ready to react in defense, as he asked of their intentions.

Then she appeared from across the graveyard and he knew, he knew it was true what they'd said. Her eyelid was red and swollen, she had been crying. Joe Buttataki was dead, murdered. His expression fell as he stared at her, feeling the intensity of the heartache in her soul. Her pain had a sort of sobering effect on him, the madness in him calming as he focused all of his attention on her. Marie, who possessed a naturally cheerful disposition, was being devoured by melancholy. He didn't know how or why, but that look on her face made him grieve for the loss of her happiness. His own pensive demeanor displayed less than a tenth of his misery. His voice was somber when he finally said her name, "Marie," though she would not look up from the ground.

He felt a furious, violent rage build up in his body—but he also acknowledged the futility in it. There was an upheaval of ire trapped within his skin, and simply put, nowhere to expel it. He remained still, though his fists trembled, as Spirit relayed the details of the crime to him. He wanted to punish the culprit for this gross offense against Marie. He wanted to murder the person who had put that look on her face. However, a simple death would not suffice, no. He wanted to tear that person limb from limb, give them a slow death that would be agonizing until their last breath escaped their shattered teeth and broken lips. Although his imagination horrified even him, it was necessary, evil but necessary. He was responsible. He had failed Marie, his partner and friend, in his relapse into madness.

Stein's gaze briefly met Spirit's, as the death scythe informed him that he was to covertly investigate Joe's murder, clear his name and bring about justice. It was difficult for Stein to believe that after everything he had put Spirit through, the weapon remained a dependable comrade and friend. He offered a slight nod of acknowledgement when Spirit had finished explaining the plan, his eyes sliding back to peer at Marie as Nygus spoke with her. "What will you tell Lord Death? You're all putting yourselves at risk, doing this thing for me." He asked Spirit, without looking back at him.

Sid conveniently found something to look at in the distance, as he pretended not to eavesdrop on the conversation between Spirit and him. Stein could feel Spirit's eyes scrutinizing him as he answer his question, "We're going to tell him that you escaped capture, which is easy to believe, and that you abducted Marie in the process."

"Why would I take Marie with me?" Stein responded, still staring at her. He could hear what Nygus was saying about him and he thought that the parallels in the conversations were ironic. Here Spirit was, trying to convince him to go, and there was Nygus, trying to convince Marie to stay.

"He'll believe it easily, Stein."

"That doesn't answer why, Spirit."

"Does it matter why?" Of course it mattered why. Stein always wanted to know they answer to three main questions: what, how and why. The other man sighed heavily, although Stein did not know what it was about this conversation that was taxing for him. Spirit allowed a silence to stretch out, stalling so that he wouldn't have to answer. But Stein was ruthless in his curiosity, and Spirit's resolve waned. His friend grunted in frustration, before muttering sharply, "He'll believe me because he knows as well as anyone that people take extreme measures when they love someone."

The pits of his grey-green eyes shifted back to Spirit, staring without blinking. There was no humor in his voice, and he remained unsmiling, as he said, "Don't make me laugh, Spirit. You and I both agreed I'm incapable of understanding such things. _Stein doesn't love_." He repeated what Nygus had said, though there was a hint of self-contempt in his voice as he did so.

"It wouldn't be the first time I was wrong about something." Spirit shrugged his shoulders dismissively—attempting to make light of the conversation. He added in a more sympathetic tone, "It's obvious in the way you're looking at her now. I've never seen you so upset."

"I don't know what you're talking about, Spirit." He lied, but quieted as Marie's footsteps approached him from behind. He no longer felt the prickle of madness in her presence, but instead that familiar serenity she brought about him. He closed his eyes and savored her nearness, having been unable to bear close proximity with her just days ago. The cool tranquility started in the back of his head and trickled down his spine, easing the tension from each and every nerve as it did so. It was damn near euphoric, and if he'd had a choice, he would have gladly drowned in her wavelength. The symphony in his mind was tempered by her presence, and the ringing was replaced by a soft tune similar to that of a harp.

Was that love he felt for her? This muddled emotion that throbbed in the center of his chest and made his body feel as though it might tear at the seams. There was a great, inexplicable joy that embraced his soul whenever he was with her, but he also suffered for it. Although he was content that her wavelength was back to normal, it distressed him to see her soul being suffocated by her own grief. He wanted to protect her from unhappiness, but he was at a loss of how to do so. This unfathomable regret equaled his joy, and left him with nothing but a bittersweet numb. His inner tumult caused his bones quake with a terrible anger again—but the delicate pressure of her hand against the center of his back seemed to rescind all of that and he felt a sense of peace once again.

Her voice sounded tired and heavy as it reached his ears, "…and I promised Joe I would watch over this person, let's go Stein."

_Why?_ Why was he disheartened by the fact that she only followed him because of a promise she made to her dead lover? Why did he feel the unfamiliar sting of jealous resentment? He felt a frown tug at the corners of his lips, but he tried to remind himself that it wasn't right to be possessive of Marie; no matter what positive effect she had on his madness. She had loved Joe, not him. Marie could never love a man who was so fundamentally different from her ideal mate. She would fulfill the basic necessities of her promise, and although they would likely remain friends, she would meet another man and move on with her life. He told himself that it was better this way, in spite of how sick he felt with envy.

The words Nygus had spoken to Marie echoed in his mind, and he couldn't help but agree with her. From the instant he had drawn his first breath, he hadn't understood how to love or receive it in return. No amount of yearning or devotion for Marie would change that. It was in her nature to accept him for what he was, but she could never bring herself to love him the way she had loved Joe, he knew that much. It was not love he felt for Marie, just a combined sense of admiration and remorse.

He would avenge the murder of the man she had loved. That was to be his penance for his failure and dysfunction. He would inflict a suffering so tremendous, so absolute. He would wield Marie as a weapon of justice and he would smite them into oblivion. He felt self-condemnation for delighting in his violent sense of justice, but he knew it was what had to be done. No matter what secrets he might uncover, no matter what consequences he might face, and no matter what damage might be done to himself—he would exact retribution for her sake, and he would show no mercy. It was the unspoken promise he made to Marie, the only person in the world capable of making him feel both monstrous and compassionate simultaneously.

But for the time being, he focused on putting one foot in front of the other, as Marie fell into step beside him. They walked in absolute silence without looking at one another. The wind blew and the branches whispered with the eerie words of the dead, Marie's shoulders shook with a shiver. There was a grim suspicion in the pit of his stomach that this journey would not end well, and he thought Marie must feel it too. Even so, the pair followed their path without hesitation.

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**A/N: I was going to write a later chapter as a one-shot, but upon re-reading Chapter 40 of Soul Eater, I was inspired just by Stein's expression to write a full story (honestly, the look on his face nearly breaks my heart and anyone who says he's incapable of caring for Marie needs to study that chapter harder). I also originally thought the title Chaos Theory was just a nifty idea, because Stein is a scientist, but upon researching it further I found that it kind of applies to him in a way. Given that while he is chaotic, he nevertheless follows a sense of law and order by siding with Lord Death. Anyways, this story is going to have little to no fluff. It will be pretty dark and dreary for the most part. What can I say, I like my angst.**


	2. Part II: Depression

**Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, nor do I profit from this. I am simply writing this for fun.**

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_"There is no pain so great as the memory of joy in present grief."_

- (_Aeschylus_)

There were many times in her life when she would gather the broken pieces of her friends or family members from the ground, and remind them to never lose hope. It had all seemed so simple to her, hope was supposed to be something positive and uplifting after all. But now…now Marie felt like a hypocrite, for hope had betrayed her. Hope was an overwhelming, all-consuming force. It could be both great and terrible.

The initial, searing agony of grief, when she had first been told about Joe's murder, would never have been so strong had she not felt such hope in a future with that man. It had hurt until she could no longer bear it, but the numb bitterness that had followed was no better. Where she had once felt a capacity to care others she felt hollow and broken, and she didn't even know where to begin with putting herself back together. Stein was mercifully silent as they continued on their journey, but the more she remained trapped in her own thoughts, the more the emotion expanded in her chest.

She knew that she was mourning and that grief was an unpredictable thing, but she felt as though she needed to remain strong—especially since Stein was still in the fragile stages of recovery from his stroke with madness. However, the more she attempted to be strong for him, the more she slipped into a depression. It was a double-edged blade, but she felt the cut deeper than he ever would. Memories of the past bubbling up in her consciousness hindered more than helped.

She had lost comrades and mourned them before, but this was more personal—she had loved this man, been intimate with him. She mourned the loss of a potential future with him. She mourned for the wedding ceremony she had pictured, with him standing at the end of the aisle. She mourned for the names she had chosen for the children they would have had, one boy and one girl. But most of all, she mourned for the loss of his soul. That was the worst feeling, that his soul—the essence of his being—had been robbed of a peaceful rest and instead consumed by something evil. In that moment, she recalled the first time he'd told her that he'd loved her.

She felt her lungs lock up with sobs that she desperately tried to keep in, and her eye welled up with tears. She wished she had never fantasized about marrying or having a family him. She wished she had never made plans with him or considered reconciling their relationship. In fact, Marie wished she had never met him at all. At least then she wouldn't have felt this weight in her heart.

It was an awful, selfish thing to wish. It was against Marie's very nature, and the fact that was how she felt made her stop dead in her tracks. She stared at the ground and thought about what sort of person she was becoming, she felt like these thoughts and emotions belonged to someone else, belonged to a resentful woman drowning in her own grief. She made a wretched noise and reached for the nearest tree for support—confronting this foreign side of her left her weak-kneed and dazed.

A hand rose to cover her mouth, but it did little to stifle the sobs that burst from her chest in spasms. Her body trembled, as the emotions she'd been trying so hard to contain struggled to breakout all at once. She opened her eye briefly to see Stein's feet standing in front of her, and she felt the guilt burn within. She opened her mouth to speak, to apologize, but attempting to talk only seemed to make matters worse. He remained still before her, awkwardly silent, there were no words for him to say and he knew it. Stein did not possess a vocabulary for words of comfort and sympathy, nor did she expect him to. But Stein was a creature of observation, and he had studied the comfort tactics of others before. Though he might not have been able to verbally express his shared sorrow with her, he was able to convey a message that did not require the use of words. Not between them.

She felt his hand gently placed on the top of her head, as he eased her face into his chest. It was a sweet respite to be embraced by the strong arms of a man; one that she trusted and felt secure with…one that she could pretend was her Joe. Her unhappiness at the thought of using Stein in that manner made her cry even harder, and yet he was not intimidated by her intense display of emotion. He tentatively soothed her with a few hesitant strokes of her hair, and she raised a hand to grip at his shirt—as she could not coherently thank him at that moment. _I can lean on Stein, I can rely on him_, She thought to herself and found strength in that. _This is only for me, only ever for me._

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She stretched her body against the muscular length of his, seeming rouse him from sleep. They were both nude, as he pressed her down onto her back and covered her body with his own. Her hands traced along the familiar biceps, up on his shoulders and down the stretch of his back—she wanted to memorize every inch of him. She felt his mouth on her neck, as his hands trailed down her front, and there was a hint of his name on her tongue, "_…Joe_." But the moan died on her lips and her lungs seized up with a sob, as the sunshine seeping through her window dragged her into reality. No matter how hard she tried to maintain her grasp on the dream, the spell had been broken. He had felt warm in her arms just seconds ago, but now she had to remind herself that he was cold, dead and buried. His funeral had been last week and she had been half a world away, alone in a stale hotel room in the city of Lyon, France.

Marie stared out the window, listlessly lying in the bed even though it was half past noon. She heard the rap of Stein's knuckles on the door that separated their conjoined rooms, but made no effort to look in that general direction. She licked her dry lips and said with a sigh, "Come in."

Stein had already begun opening the door when she had spoken, though it made no difference to her. He surveyed the room quietly, before he began to clean up the nightstand. Without facing him, she groaned at the noise he was making, "What do you want, Stein?" She paused to yawn, "You certainly didn't come in here to clean."

"Marie…" He murmured, and she could feel his calculating gaze sweeping over her, systematically breaking down the situation into something he could analyze before giving an effective reply. "Marie, you need to get out of bed."

She released another sigh, this time the soft whine that followed almost ended with her in tears. She shut her eye fiercely and forbid herself from weeping anymore. Her voice wavered as she tried in vain to sound firm as she spoke again, "Stein. Leave me alone."

"Marie, you're experiencing grief." He said very calmly, "You're going to go through a few of the different stages. You've probably already experienced some of denial and given your current state…you're in a depression."

"I don't care."

He walked around the bed, invading her line of vision and forcing her to acknowledge him. His mouth was set in a thin line, and she could tell she was testing his patience. He repeated himself, "Marie. You need to get out of bed."

"Stein…" She sat up and met his gaze fiercely, but just that simple movement seemed to cause her physical pain. She winced and dissolved into sobs, her hands rose to cover her face. She fell back against the pillows and rolled over into the fetal position. She bit into her bottom lip and tried to keep herself from saying anything else, but the words came out in a low wail, "Get out, Stein! Leave me be!"

He said nothing, and eventually she heard his footsteps head in the direction of the door to his own room. He hesitated for a split-second, before the door creaked with a closing motion and the knob clicked into place. Only then was she submerged in guilt and shame for the way she was treating him, especially considering he was doing his best. There was a loud crash from within Stein's room and she knew he was venting his frustration out of her sight, but was unaware that she could still hear him. He broke something again, this time it sounded like it was made of glass. Then there was silence.

She escaped into her own grief, instead of taking responsibility for her actions, and slowly slipped into a grief-induced slumber.

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**A/N: Yeah...been awhile. College is the leading cause of death to fanfiction, just putting it out there. Anyways, I have these next few chapters saved, so I figured why the hell not and post them. They may not be perfect, but go easy on me! Anyways, thank you to much to those who continue to read my ridiculous fics. Keep being awesome! Ta!**


	3. Part III: Anxiety

******Disclaimer: I do not own Soul Eater, nor do I profit from this. I am simply writing this for fun.**

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_"I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity."_

- (_Edgar Allan Poe_)

He lay against the hard surface of his hotel room floor, staring up at the ceiling as he listened the ticking of his clock. He drowned out all other noise, and kept time with the ticking as he checked his pulse—when irregularity had finally gone down he felt calm and composed once more.

His head tilted slightly to examine the mess he'd made in his burst of anger. Above the broken vase and scattered flowers, water trickled down the wall like quiet teardrops. Behind him was the overturned nightstand, and the accompanying lamp. He must remember to leave a tip for the maids, it seemed like the reasonable thing to do since he had given them an extra set of tasks.

He sat up with a grunt and turned to stare at the door that connected to Marie's room. He could see that she had settled as well, but that did not ease his troubles.

Denial. Depression. Bargaining. Anger. Acceptance. Grief was a monster with five faces, and it was eating away at Marie's wounded soul. Her depression was getting them nowhere, and they had already outlived their stay in Lyon in his opinion. She had made herself an island within her own hotel room and she wanted to be left there until she wilted away from her own despair. He was torn by his desire to tend to her, and his irritation over her giving in so easily.

He was constantly under the threat of his underlying madness rupturing from his subconscious, and wreaking havoc in his reality. He had done his absolute best to subdue the flaring up of his fury and violent tendencies, but it haunted him in the evenings. It was easier to deal with the closer he was to Marie, but she didn't want to be near anyone and her gloomy state certainly clogged the calming process. He had tried desperately to be the strong one for her sake, but the madness was always clawing at him—like the consistent tick of his clock. With every day, he woke up and told himself that she would be better _that_ day, that he would have some reprieve for himself—and every day he was devastated when she refused to reconcile with her depression and participate in life.

Everyone healed emotional wounds at a different pace, he was aware of that fact, but Stein could not afford to allow Marie to linger in her depression any longer. If she would not allow him to coax her with encouraging words, then he would have to utilize force, even if it meant she would hate him for it. There was no other option. He was practiced in the art of withstanding the contempt of others, even if it was from his Marie, he would be able to shoulder her resentment.

He stood and approached the door, opening without knocking and subsequently slamming it behind him. She woke with a fright and tilted her chin up to spy him, and she almost began sobbing again. He twisted the screw in his head thrice, before he brusquely approached her side of the bed. She turned to face away from him, he responded by grabbing her shoulders and pulled her back, but not with roughness. She squirmed in his grasp as though his mere touch burned her, and a mournful moan escaped her lips, "Stein, stop, please."

"Marie, look at me." He said quietly, when she refused, he shouted and shook her, "Look. At. Me."

"_What do you want_?" The words burst from her chest as she looked up at him. He stared down at her passively, and he saw a spark of anger in the depths of her glassy eyes.

"You can't stay here any longer." He started, his voice controlled and dispassionate, but his hands trembled as he held her, "This depression is a burden on the both of us, and I can't allow you to jeopardize the mission any longer—we've wasted enough time already."

"The mission?" She retorted, obviously incensed by his words. She shifted up into a sitting position, but his grip on her shoulders remained firm. "We have no leads Stein! We don't have anywhere to go!"

"We don't have leads because you've been absorbing all of our time with your moping." He shot back evenly, the vacant look on his face never once expressing a thread of the anxiety he was feeling. She was appalled by what he'd said, given her only response being a slack-jawed stare. He took that as an opportunity to continue, but his words grew increasingly sharp until he was speaking in a scathing voice, "I need you to stop being useless and unavailable, Marie. I need you to help me. Aren't you angry? Don't you want to find Joe's killer? Or do you just want to perish from that broken heart, and join him in an early grave?" He had been too harsh, and he regretted the words the instant they slid from his tongue. He took a deep breath and reminded himself, _This is what I wanted, her rage and blame._

He felt her fist against his jaw, before he heard her anguished, incoherent scream. The raw strength of her punch forced him off of her, as he fell onto his backside. He sat up slowly and rested his elbows on his bent knees—his hands made no move to touch the tender side of his face. She removed herself from the cocoon of blankets and approached him with renewed fury, "How dare you! H-How dare you say that to me! I expect a lot of things from you Franken Stein, but never that!"

The tip of his tongue tentatively touched the outer rim of his gums, he tasted blood. He laughed a cruel sound directed at her, "Good, I want you to get angry Marie. Angrier still." He paused before adding in a tone that was borderline hostile, "At least then you'll be productive. I can't work with your depression, but anger, that's something that will give you drive. You'll find the rewards much more gratifying than crying yourself to sleep." He shielded his face from the barrage of punches, but ever few whacks elicited a grunt of pain. And then she began to cry. Eventually the pummeling of her fists got weaker and weaker, until she collapsed in front of him in a heap of sobs.

They sat there for a time, until she had no moisture left in her body to expel through that singular eye. She sniffed and hiccupped, her body shaking with the effort to control her upset breathing. He observed her silently, noticing the exact instant her cyclical spiral of depression was disrupted, and there was life in that formerly glassy eye. She stared at the ground for a long time, and he reached over to hold her hand.

"Marie…I'm sorry I upset you." It was difficult for him to mask his elation over having her almost back to normal; he could feel her wavelength stabilizing and it instantly soothed his own soul. He mashed down the urge to smile, feeling it would be inappropriate to blatantly express joy after having a fight.

"I'm sorry I hit you." She said numbly, without looking up at him. He wondered if simply looking at his face would stimulate her ire more, after all he had said those terrible things. His nerves twitched with a dormant instinct, and he slowly stroked her inflamed knuckles with the pad of his thumb—she indulged the contact only for a moment, before she recoiled from him. "I…I am sorry for the way I've been acting. But I'm better now, and I think that we can move forward with the investigation."

"Glad to hear it." His thumb ran along the tips of his fingers, where the warmth of her hand lingered, "I'm going to go ask around town…someone has to know where this guy went after this city." His eyes traveled down her body and he added in an abrupt tone, "You've lost weight…I'll grab you something to eat while I'm out."

"Bring me some wine too, would you please?"

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Marie swished the dark liquid around the obnoxiously large goblet, and Stein wondered if she was reconsidering. He had been reluctant to bring her alcohol, especially since she had _just barely_ emerged from her depression, but she had been rather insistent. She seemed to make a decision, as she gulped down half her glass at an alarmingly fast rate. His fingers twitched and he felt the urge to smoke, but he had refused to purchase cigarettes. He cleared his throat and preceded to make conversation as a means of distraction, "Do you want to hear what I found out?"

"Of course." She replied, before popping a cracker topped with cheese into her mouth and washing it down with another sip of wine.

"I met up with a witch that lives in the area." He slumped down in his seat, glancing out the window of her room. "She's a young witch, with little power. It was easy to get her to talk."

Marie placed the glass down, he felt her gaze on him for the first time since their fight, "What did you do, Stein?"

His eyes met Marie's. He remembered the look of fear in the witch's eyes as he'd grabbed her by the throat and threatened to cut her into ribbons, her horror had been palpable, it had stirred his blood and the panic in her voice was the sweetest thing he ever heard. However, his response to Marie was detached and vague, "Nothing any other agent of the DWMA wouldn't." He felt the sting of her disbelief, but persisted with his findings nonetheless, "She couldn't give me a name, but she said he hid in a cabin in the wilderness. The cabin is apparently located along the Rhine, near Switzerland, I believe. Not far from here."

Marie grew quiet again. She sipped from her goblet every now and then, until she drained it of its contents. Once the glass was empty, she poured herself another and he made a face of worry. She spoke finally, as she considered the new glass of swirling red liquid, "I guess that's where we're headed next."

"It sounds like a good lead, to me." He conceded, "He might even still be hiding out there. Are you prepared for that?"

"Of course I am." She replied, too quickly to sound confident.

"Are you prepared for the possibility that he isn't?" She said nothing, and drank more wine.

They sat in silence as she consumed the rest of the food that he'd brought for her, and she polished off almost three-quarters of the bottle of wine. Her speech was slurred and uninhibited as she spoke again, "Thank you for the wine, I feel very…much better."

"Do you really?" He asked with all seriousness, although he should have known by now that inebriated people only responded to serious subjects of conversation with painful sincerity and compassion. Marie frowned and reached across the table to touch the side of his face, where she had punched him earlier.

"_Oh, Stein_." She exhaled tiredly, "You've been keeping that madness at bay for my sake, haven't you?" He remained still and said nothing, "You poor _darling_." He had been called many things in his lifetime, but darling wasn't one of them.

"Marie…"

"Shush." Her finger pressed lightly against his parted lips, and he was effectively silenced. "I'm really, very, horribly sorry for being a burden. I just…he was the one, Stein. And now he's gone." Her voice cracked, but she did not cry, "I'm not going to weep anymore. I promise. We're going to do this thing. You and me. Together. And I'm going to look after you, even if it's the last thing I do. I promised him, you're _my_ responsibility." Her hand clutched her chest, as though she was soothing some persistent ache.

"Marie there's no need for you to apologize anymore." He replied quietly, before adding an afterthought, "You're just as much my responsibility, as I am yours."

"Okay…good." She nodded her head, but he wondered if she truly comprehended their conversation, or if she would even remember it come morning. She stood from her chair, wobbled, and fell back into her seat. She stared at her feet stubbornly, before making a seemingly innocent inquiry, "Will you help me to bed?"

He rose without saying a word, and picked her up by the elbow, she responded by leaning into him with a sigh. His heart contracted in his chest, but he did not know why. His conscience whispered, _You don't love her. You don't know how to love._

The journey to her bed was a clumsy one, what with her hanging off of him and stumbling every step. But they made it, and he set her down on her back with great care. When he moved to step away from her, she roughly grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down to her level—unexpectedly, her lips crashed into his. His normally over-active mind completely emptied of thoughts. He held his hands suspended in the air, completely unaware of how he ought to react in this situation—_Marie_ was kissing him. He jerked away from her suddenly, and stared down at her with utter confusion. She released her hold on his shirt and a single tear leaked out of her eye. She turned her face to hide it from him, her hand wiping the tear away as quickly as it had appeared, and she whispered, more so to herself than him, "I shouldn't have done that."

"You won't remember it, come morning." He reassured her in the calmest tone he could manage, before exiting her room for the security of his own. He closed his eyes and willed himself to forget.

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**A/N: Okay, so this is the second saved chapter I have. I don't know when I'll be able to update this again, but hopefully anyone still reading this enjoys! Thanks!**


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